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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



MAUDE MILLER ESTES, 

LOUISVILLE. KY. 




AUTHORESS 



1^ 




Love Poems 



I 



AND 



The Boyhood of 
Kentucky's Poet 



BEING 



The Life-Story 



OF 



WILLIAM LEE POPHAM 




BY 



MAUDE MILLER ESTES 





3EIE1E 






3EIE1E 







.OU-^^ 



Copyright, 1910, 

BY 

The World Supply Co. 



Price, in Paper Binding, Fifty Cents. 
In Extra Fine Cloth Binding, One Dollar. 

Order all Copies from 
THE WORLD SUPPLY CO. 
Louisville, Ky. 



©CLA271736 



--.•> 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Close your eyes and behold the pictures fairer than an 
angel's dream ; for no artist's painting can surpass the pictures 
in Memory's gallery. 



DEDICATION 

TO EVERY OPTIMIST WHO BELIEVES 
IN GIVING FLOWERS OF PRAISE TO 
THE LIVING INSTEAD OF PLACING A 
WREATH UPON THE GRAVE OF THE 
DEAD 

THIS VOLUME IS 

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY 

THE AUTHORESS 



Comforts 

There is never a cry in all the world 

But Jesus hears the weeping; 
There is never a child of woman's birth 

But the care of God is keeping; 
There is never a word in secret prayer 

But brings our blessings nearer; 
There is never a sorrow of human life 

But makes high heaven dearer. 

There is never a song of the nightingale 

But the joys of life it's voicing; 
There is never a spoken word of love 

But sets the heart rejoicing; 
There is never a cloud across the sky 

But somewhere the sun is shining; 
And let us think the clouds of life 

Will leave a silver lining. 

— Popham. 



PREFACE. 

In this volume it is the writer's desire to present in a "nut- 
shell" a few of hundreds of Love Poems from the pen of 
William Lee Popham, together with their author's biography. 

I do not attempt to write a full biography of my hero — but 
give that which I think the world should know of his sweet 
boyhood and inspired manhood. 

His simple, loving, consecrated thoughts in verse and prose 
have inspired me to this attempt. 

It is with the poet's full consent that I write his biograph- 
ical sketch, together with his poems used exclusively herein. 

No man ever gave to the world sweeter thoughts of higher 
endeavor than William Lee Popham, of whom I write. The 
poet is yet unborn who can excel him in painting mind- 
pictures in natural simplicity, beauty and clearness of thought. 

Herein is presented the poet's first poem, entitled: "The 
Babbling Brook," in which it is plain that love inspired his 
pen. In this poem the reader can see the boy-poet as he sat 
on that "moss-covered rock" and wrote verse to his little 
sweeftheart. One can see the love-light in his eyes when he 
"mailed" the poem, together with a rose or bunch of sweet 
violets in the "hollow stump" by the brook. Let your fancy 



picture the ''golden-haired" lassie when she went to the 
"hollow stump post office" and received the flowers and verse 
placed there by her poet-lover. The reader will also, find 
herein, a poem written in the poet's manhood — written of the 
memories of this same little girl. In this poem, entitled, "My 
First Sweetheart," is enough of sweetness to lure the bees from 
every blooming flower. May all who read this brief biograph- 
ical sketch of the boyhood of Kentucky's poet and his love 
poems herewith, feel the same inspiration of which this vol- 
ume is born. 

Very truly yours, 

MAUDE MILLER ESTES. 



EVANGELIST. AUTHOR, LECTURER AND POET. 







■ 


1^' 







WILLIAM LEE POPHAM. 



A GREAT OFFER ! 



"Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet" is 
finely bound in beautiful cloth, and sells in the best binding 
everywhere at $1.00 per copy. 

All persons owning a paper-bound copy may send fifty 
cents in postage stamps, together with their old ''paper-bound 
copy," to The World Supply Co., and in exchange each will re- 
ceive a finly bound one-dollar copy in beautiful cloth — title in gold. 

Thousands of persons who learn to love this book and prize 
it as a "home gem" are taking advantage of this liberal offer. 

No matter how soiled or torn the paper-bound copy you 
have, the one-dollar cloth binding will be gladly exchanged 
for same when accompanied by fifty cents in cash or postage 
stamps. 

No good book with a beautiful message, should be kept in 
the home in cheap binding w^hen a durable ''parlor issue," 
which would last almost a lifetime, can be had so easily. 

Order all copies from THE WORLD SUPPLY CO, 
LOUISVILLE, KY. 



CONTENTS. 

Turn to the pages and pick the kernels out. 



WILLIAM LEE POPHAM'S BOOKS 



SILVER GEMS IN SEAS OF GOLD 
POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER 
NUTSHELLS OF TRUTH 
THE VALLEY OF LOVE 
SHE DARED TO WIN 
LOVE'S RAINBOW DREAM 
THE VILLAGE BY THE SEA 
A TRAMP'S LOVE 

The above-mentioned series of eight books are fully de- 
scribed on pages 85 to 89 of this book. 

Read on pages 90-92 how to get the above books free. 
Order all books from The World Supply Co., Louisville, Ky. 



Cl)e Bopljood of iStentucftp's j^oet 



William Lee Popham, Kentucky's ''world poet," was born 
April 14, 1885, in Hardin Co., Kentucky. After a commoii 
school education at the "log schoolhouse" amid the fields near 
his birthplace, he entered East Lynn College in his early 
"teens." After an unfinished college career, he returned to 
his country home full of ambition to see the world, and per- 
suaded his parents to move to Louisville, Ky. 

In his early teens, the poet, with his parents, one brother 
and two sisters, moved to Kentucky's metropolis, where the 
poet continued to study under private teachers and self-help. 

At age seventeen he began his American lecture tour and 
at once won titles as "The boy orator," and "The youngest 
lecturer in the world." 

He attracted large crowds in cities and hamlets; and wrote 
his first book at age eighteen. 

His first book voiced his noble sentiments and high en- 
deavor for humanity's good; but in boyhood style and simple 
manner. 

He is now the author of eight more books and is still writ- 
ins: new ones. 



Below the hill upon which nestled the poet's childhood 
home, flowed a cool, babbling spring which in its winding 
revel, sang its way thru the vale of wild flowers and green 
pasture. 

It was by the shady banks of this brook where the poet 
often wandered when but a child; and those who knew not his 
heart's impulse and his golden future thought him an idle 
wanderer; but be it far from idleness. 

It was amid such environments where his poems of to-day 
were born in his soul of nature — and therein had been sleeping 
along the trail of the kindly years. By this clear brook there 
was a large moss-covered rock upon which the "boy poet" sat 
and wrote love-poems to his "girl-sweetheart ;" and nearby 
was a hollow stump which was his post office, where he 
"mailed" many a bunch of violets with poetic presentation in- 
scribed upon the paper that wrapped their tender stems. In 
this valley were wild roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, violets, 
ferns and cool green vines that hugged the bosom of the trees 
and giant rocks. Toward the West was a steep hillside be- 
decked with white oaks, maples, and sugar trees — with a 
growth of green amid the queerly shaped rocks. Toward the 
East spread a gentle, sloping hill of less steepness, where white 
oaks were numerous ; and beneath their stately shade, was a 
green carpet of bluegrass spotted with wild roses and dog- 
wood saplings. Northward, far across the valley, stood an 
orchard of apple, peach, pear, and plum trees which covered 
about one hundred acres of law^n and clover. 



In the cornfield, while the tired horse rested in the shade, 
the "plowboy poet" would sit and write verse; and each sum- 
mer added largely to his boyhood writing. 

It was often the young poet's duty to "shepherd the sheep" 
in the shady pasture — and this quiet environment gave oppor- 
tunity for expression of thought. He delighted to see the 
lambs play — and it was the inspiration from their glee that 
caused their shepherd to WTite "The Frolicing Innocent 
Lambs." It is said by some that the boy-poet's association 
with the sheep and his care for the helpless lambs was largely 
influential in establishing his boyhood gentleness ; for a shepherd's 
life is gentle and his flocks are the most harmless of stock. Many 
were the poems by the shepherd boy; but few were the per- 
sons who heard or read them — for it was the young author's 
quiet pleasure to write — secluding his manuscripts from the 
public. 

No record is had of the number of poems written during the 
poet's boyhood ; but few are left of his early poems, many 
having been destroyed by their author as he would write better 
ones from time to time. 

And real poets seldom are able to rewrite lost verse; for 
poetic thought is a flash of inspiration — the same thoughts, 
perhaps, never to be written by the same author again. 

Lost poems like each yesterday lost in the past, can not 
be recalled. 



A lost poem is like a fresh flower thrown upon the cold 
bosom of the stream ; it is seldom rescued — and if at all, the 
fragrance is lost — for 'tis only a withered flower. 

The world is yet to see the full fruit of our hero's man- 
hood ; for already the bud of boyhood and the blossom of 
young manhood have given to the world a small library within 
itself; and after a healthy bud and a full blossom comes ma- 
ture fruit. 

In springtime after his "work hours," the boy-poet would stroll 
in his father's massive orchard where the tree tops were full 
of white and colored blossoms — where the air was fragrant 
amid Nature's paradise. He delighted to find the nests of 
birds and watch the mated lives ; but never would he disturb 
their peace. Their song filled his young heart and his pen 
flowed as freely as their song. 

In winter when the earth lay beneath a coverlid of snow, 
he would throw out crumbs of bread to the hungry birds — 
and they soon learned that he meant not to harm but help 
them. The horses and dogs and cows on the farm were "pets" 
when near the young poet; for each knew his gentleness. 

The cottage in which our hero was born was a plain four- 
room wood structure, and in the front yard amid other trees, 
were two tall cedars. Each year the jays and other birds 
made their nests near the cottage door, over which clung green 
vines that blossomed in season. 

While our hero was much alone in his childhood, he never 
failed to receive "a mother's good-night kiss" while she knelt 



by an old-fashioned trundle-bed where the boy dreamed and 
slept away the still nights. 

It seem to have been the providence of a kind God that his boy- 
hood was spent away from the wicked city and the noisy 
streets. 

In the woodland dells, the open fields and amid the God- 
built hills, were his youthful highways; and nature and heaven 
alone taught him how to use his pen. God is always in the 
training of every benefactor of the human race. It is not 
strange that God raised a "world-poet" from "blackberry 
fields," for to get His twelve diciples He went along the sea- 
shore and gathered humble fishermen — the lowly of earth. 

Sometimes from the "smallest" God chooses the "great- 
est," but never does the all-wise Creator go among the "haughty 
proud" for useful men to establish His kingdom upon earth. 

On the farm the young poet "fought in war with bees and 
flies" and was fond of romps amid the sweet clover blossoms. 

He loved children, but seldom stayed where they were 
except to care for his younger brother or sister while his 
mother busied herself in domestic duty. 

The only "chum" of the boy-poet was his brother who is 
now one of the leading lawyers at the Louisville bar. 

It befell the "brothers" to feed the stock, carry the water, 
cut the "stove wood" and other things with which only "coun- 
try boys" are familiar. The only "fights" the boy-poet had 
were "in defense" of his younger brother, and the boy who 



chose to "over-ride" him had the poet to ''whip" then and 
there. 

Like other children, many were the times when the youth- 
ful brothers sought the orchard and spent the summer hours 
in picking wild strawberries and chasing young rabbits. Then 
''the green apple dinner" was a "favorite banquet" spread upon 
God's table-cloth of green grass beneath an apple tree. 

The poet's father was a fruit grower, farmer, nurseryman 
and country merchant, and had no poetic talent or unusual 
intellectual gift. 

The poet's father was a school-teacher ere his business ca- 
reer. 

The poet's mother while uneducated, was a gentle, kind 
and dutiful wife and mother. The poet has blue eyes, full of 
expression, love, and gentleness. He is a medium-size man, 
possesses a voice of melody — which at will becomes eloquent 
and commanding. He inherited his ability as an orator from 
his mother's people, but as far back as can be traced, heredity 
does not claim his poetic gift. This gift is born of heaven 
in his own soul. His expression of poetic sentiment is natural 
as a mother's love for her child — a rare gift from the holy 
God. He finds congenial company in solitude, for the bird's 
song, the wind's whisper and the brooklet's babble are music 
in response to his soul's longing. His sentiments of love, ex- 
pressed in almost every page he writes, are sacred, tender and 
impressive. His writings have a distant similarity to the 
works of some of our ancient poets, yet possess an originality 



wholly his own. His word-painting is hard to excel, and his 
thoughts on love are ever inspiring. 

His unmarried manhood is happy as was his blissful boy- 
hood, and his road is a path of sunbeams. Yet the poet has 
said, "Not for all of the world's silver and gold would I go 
thru life without a sweet woman to share my love and happi- 
ness." 

He seems to never worry ; but lives to disperse his sunshine in- 
to sunless lives. His poems have not appeared in miscellaneous 
publications like some poems of old — a strict copyright being the 
reason. Tho' possessing an unselfish spirit, it has been his desire 
to only permit a limited circulation of many poems — always prom- 
ising himself verses near perfection in the future issues. How- 
ever, his works are accepted by one of the greatest publishing 
houses in New York City on liberal royalty. 

Places and names of persons are unnamed in his poems. 

He is the people's poet. To read his poems is to know his 
heart and feel his thrills. 

Yet he says of himself : "No one knows me but God." Doubt- 
less, in his heart there are unborn ideas and unspoken love ; yet his 
readers feel that they know him — even the thousands who 
have seen his face only in the print of his picture. 

He cultivates the acquaintance of but few personal friends ; 
but his praises are sung by admiring friends wherever he is 
known. His personality and kindly feeling for humanity wins 
new friends wherever he goes ; for he is welcome as the May- 
time flowers. He delights to praise friends upon their merit; 



but is honest with all, and never flatters. He is so sympa- 
thetic with every human need that his verse finds a home in 
warm hearts; and those who know hini best are unwilling- to see 
him go. To know that his daily and hourly life is a practice of 
his sermons in verse, prose, and pulpit is to appreciate, ad- 
mire and love him. 

The tenderness in his verse often brings tears— but the 
very tears are sweet. His poems touch every phase of life, 
and to read them is to feel the heart throb and hear the bird sing, 
the brook babble, and lovers coo. The sloping hills and 
quiet valleys bordering the humble cottage of his birthplace, 
were the scenes of his ramble in boyhood. He sought the soli- 
tude of the woodland and spent a quiet boyhood close to na- 
ture. Unlike other boys of his age, he was tender, kind and 
affectionate to all. He would not rob a bird's nest, kill a frog 
or harm a garden rose. 

It is said that once when he found some boys stoning birds, 
that he persuaded them to ''harm not the defenseless birds 
that sing their lives away to make us happy," and speaking 
thusly, the poet tenderly lifted the wounded sparrow to his 
lips and with a tearful kiss, placed it upon a leafy bower and 
looking heavenward said: ''Thou who notes the fallen spar- 
row, heal and protect this innocent bird." This was such a 
rebuke to the rough boys that they were never known to harm 
another innocent life. The poet is tender and loving as a 
good woman ; and gentle like the Savior whom he often confesses, 
and whose saving grace he preaches to lost humanity. A 

8 



bleeding heart brings his flow of tears — and a sweet poem to 
console the sufferer. His lowest endeavor is to be pure and 
do good; and his life, words, verse, and literature are simple 
and sweet as childhood. 

He knows human nature as he knows the alphabet; and 
every word from his pen is human. 

He knows how to console, cheer, and inspire; and this he 
does with natural ease. No congenial person can be with him 
much without being better and sweeter spirited. 

Tho' he is only about twenty-five years old he has written 
more and spoken more than many of our ancient poets had ac- 
complished in a long lifetime. 

His name will go down in fadeless ink upon history's pages 
as the "world-poet." 

Millions yet unborn will sing his praise and catch the in- 
spiration of his pen. He is truly humanity's friend and an ex- 
pounder of God's holy love. The green blades of grass to him, 
are flowers ; and the meanest bud that promises a blossom 
amid the thorns, does not to him, "blush unseen" or unappre- 
ciated. He is a staunch defender of the home; and "home hap- 
piness" is his earnest plea. The poet's grace and peace are 
born of the "Prince of Peace ;" and his love for flowers is a 
living spark from the Man of Galilee who said in Matthew 6: 
28: "Consider the lilies." 

Above all he is an optimist ; a living ray of sunshine, a 
kindling spark of inspiration to those wdio know him best. He 
is an advocate of innocent laughter, and says, "Laughter, care- 



ful diet, peace, health-thought and fresh air will cure nearly 
every human ill." 

Whether preaching gospel sermons, lecturing, writing prose 
or poetry, he is happy, lighthearted and cheerful. This sketch 
is far less than a complete biography of this immortal poet- 
soul ; for this space is too limited to tell his life-story. 

And be it understood by the reader, that the writer's aim is 
to say only the ''good things" — leaving unsaid, or for others to 
say — the "bad things" (if there be any) in the life of our poet. 
Flowers and kind words of praise should be for the living — not 
the dead. History will honor his name after he is dead ; let us 
do him honor while he lives. 

The writer has secured and quotes hereafter the first poem 
ever published from William Lee Popham's pen — said to have 
been published in a London newspaper on the eleventh birth- 
day of the poy-poet. Critics have pronounced it almost per- 
fect — and remarkable for a child of eleven years. Conflicting 
stories are told of the poet's first wooing; but safe to say, he 
was a lover in the bud of childhood. Throughout the wording 
and between the lines of this poem, you will stroll with its 
author along the "meadow-brook" near his childhood home, 
and feel the beats of a lover's heart locked within a boy's 
bosom. May its noble thrills inspire our modern youth to 
purer sentiments of love — and bless millions yet unborn. 



10 



THE BABBLING BROOK. 

When the school is out 

I like to come and play — 
In the "meadow-brook" 

Near the close of day. 
The floating clouds above 

Are lined with heaven's blue- 
With the ruby light 

And sunbeams peeping thru. 

I like to see the minnows 

Playing in the brook — 
Fleeing from my hand 

That even dodge my look. 
But if they only knew 

That I'd do no harm — 
They would surely be 

Freer from alarm. 

If I were a minnow 

In this tiny stream, 
I'd seek the ocean — 

There to swim and dream: 
For the world is big; 

And the massive sea 
Would be a pretty home, 

And to it I would flee. 



11 



I like to see the flowers 

By the brooklet's bank; 
And he who loves them not 

Is a sour crank. 
And when I put the violets 

In the "hollow stump" 
For my pretty sweetheart 

My throat contains a lump. 

But when I see her fingers 

Clasp the violet bower 
My heart is full of praise 

For every tender flower. 
And when she reads the poems 

I write here by the moss 
This vale is full of beauty 

And life's without a cross. 

I like to see the cattle 

As they creep and graze; 
For I could linger here 

By the brook for days. 
And the little lambs 

That frolic on the lawn 
Would like for me to stay 

From dewy eve till dawn. 

12 



The roses seem to say, 

Take me to your breast; 
And all they have to do 

Is to bloom and rest. 
If I were a rose, 

I'd seek a place more fair; 
For I'd make my home 

In my sweetheart's hair. 

If I were a bird, 

I would never fly 
From a noble boy 

And make him want to cry. 
For I wouldn't hurt 

The pretty little things; 
I'd only hug them 

On their folded wings. 



If I were a bird 

I would sing and sing 
To any boy or girl 

Who their crumbs would brinj 
But there're cruel boys 

Who delight to throw 
At the little things 

No matter where they go. 

13 



I like to see the buds 

By the running branch; 
And every one would blossom 

If they had a chance. 
But the other boys 

Take the tender bud 
And tear it to pieces 

Or fling to the mud. 

I like to see the trees 

Yonder on the hill, 
For they seem to be 

So very cool and still. 
If I were a tree, 

I'd spread my shade 
O'er the panting sheep 

And the withered blade. 



I like to drive the cows 

From the grassy lea, 
For every time I come 

My heart is light and free. 
For when I pass the stump 

I put a poem there 
For my little girl 

With locks of golden hair. 

14 



The golden sun is sinking 

In the distant West — 
And hides its shining face 

Beyond the wooded crest. 
But memory of the scenes 

Here on which I look 
Will as lasting be 

As the babbling brook. 

The foregoing poem was among the first William Lee Pop- 
ham ever wrote and the memory that inspired it is truly "as 
lasting as the babbling brook," for the poet's latest verse con- 
nects the golden chain of inspiration. 

As a clear proof that his first inspiration still lives to blos- 
som in his soul, the writer hereby offers the reader another 
poem written in the poet's manhood and which is only the past 
tense of the first poem. During these several years the poet's 
first wooing has lived in his heart, and one of the world's 
sweetest poems is born in William Lee Popham's following 
verse entitled : "My First Sweetheart." 



15 



MY FIRST SWEETHEART. 

They say 'tis "puppy love" 

With one you first admire, 
But methinks that mine 

Was a burning fire; 
For my child-heart ^ 

I often thought would melt 
With the love therein 

Which day and night I felt. 

Her eyes were blue as violets; 

Her face was like a flower — 
With roses in her cheeks 

That blossomed every hour. 
Her hands were like a lilly 

Resting then in mine; 
And sparkling were her eyes 

Like the new-made wine. 

Like wing-beats of angels 

Were her starchly skirt; 
The ground she trod was honey 

Instead of common dirt. 
And I gave her apples 

Instead of a diamond ring; 
And to think of her 

Made me want to sing. 

16 



Methought her gingham apron i 

And her calico .| 

Were finest silk and satin; ! 

And love made them so. 

And the pretty bonnet j 

That almost hid her eyes ; 

Was fairer than the moon \ 

Set in jeweled skies. I 

i 

We used to wade the puddles 

After summer rains; 
And would go to town 

To see the passing trains. 
And the sandy mud 

That showed her tracks was sweet — ' 

For 'twas "holy ground" i 

Where she put her feet. 

My poems were the ribbons 

In her curly hair; 
And a thousand rainbows - 

In colors, lingered there. 
We would wade the brooklet, 

And her rosy toes 
Were prettier to me j 

Than the blooming rose. 

17 



And I'd lie at night 

In the land of dream- 
When again we'd wade 

In the "meadow stream." 
And gold can not buy 

The memory of the scene, 
For visions of the past 

Will keep the memory green. 

Perhaps 'twas "puppy love" 

Soon to fade away, 
For childhood is a blossom 

That thriveth but a day. 
But the matchless fragrance 

That my childhood gave 
Will sweeten every hour 

From the cradle to the grave. 



In a poet^s dream 

I like to recall 
The early dewy walks 

By the garden wall. 
And the morning glories 

Which we gathered then 
Fill a poet's heart 

And freely move the pen. 

18 



Childhood is a blossom 

Only soon to wither; 
And the waves of life 

Take the blossoms thither. 
And my manhood now 

Possesses more joy 
Because I was a lover 

When a little boy. 

The poet whose soul is aflame with love, says : "I love the 
world because, 'God so loved the world to send us a Re- 
deemer,' " and throughout the poet's whole works, love is the 
text. His following poem is sympathy's sweet fragrance from 
the holy flower of love — and its dew-kisses are heavenly tears, 

LIFE'S MEASURE. 

Life is measured by deeds, 

Not by fleeting years; 
Is measured by heart-throbs 

And sympathizing tears. 

Is measured by love 

And sweetest thought; 
Life is sweet by loving, 

And not with money bought. 

19 



Again life is measured by duty well done ; no matter how 
brief the life. And no one more beautifully expresses the 
writer's sentiments than the poet's following verse : 

MISSION FULFILLED. 

The bud that blossoms 

And lives but a day- 
Has filled its mission, 

Tho' brief its stay. 
And he who lives 

To honor God 
Has nobly lived, 

Tho' the road he trod 
Be rough and rugged 

And but a mile, 
His life hath won 

God's approving smile. 



20 



Doubtless the greatest poems our hero ever wrote were 
written in solitude; when not a human voice was near to 
break the silent stillness, where no harsher notes were heard 
than a bird's free song or the kind wind's whisper. 

Heaven must have paused when the young poet wrote the 
following masterpiece. 

IN DELLS OF SOLITUDE. 

In dells of solitude 

Where God his valleys laid 
Is where thoughts are born 

Of which verse is made. 
For there is noteless music 

And the wordless song; 
And he who understands 

Will his stay prolong. 

Fenced by the horizon 

Of every colored cloud, 
There is plenty of company 

Excluded from the crowd. 
And the blue-domed heaven 

An inspiration yields 
To the poet-lover 

Who dreams amid the fields. 

21 



When life seems dry and dull 

With the crowd 'tis duller, 
For then we can not pause 

To view the clouds of color. 
If you'd be master 

Of all that you survey, 
Seek sweet solitude 

Where one may think and pray. 

There is enough of heaven 

In the bird that sings 
To inspire the soul 

And give it soaring wings; 
And he who hears the song 

And truly understands 
May sail the seas of thought 

And visit many lands. 

The stars are heaven's eyes 

And from the skies protrude 
To greet the one who waits 

In dells of solitude. 
And the gentle breeze 

Has a thousand fingers 
To lie upon my brow 

While listening to the singers. 

22 



The brooklet speaks a language 

Of familiar words — 
Like unto the language 

Of the warbling birds. 
And he who sits alone 

Doubtless will conclude 
That sightless wings of Love 

Doth beat in solitude. 

The dells of solitude 

The pO'Cts long have sought — 
Have given to the world 

Sweet pontic thought. 
For matchless thoughts are born 

When quiet thoughts exclude 
The agonizing noise 

In dells of solitude. 

I like to dwell in valleys 

Of the winding river, 
For I find kind Nature 

An inspiration giver. 
May her loving borders 

My happy dreams seclude 
Close to God and heaven 

In dells of solitude. 

23 



The writer knows of no poet whose verse-subjects cover 
so much of human life and interest. 

Heaven will be populated with lovers of home, and the 
following verse seems to express what I fain would say : 

HEART AND HOME UNITED. 

Love is born of heaven, 

And is the only light 
That beautifies the home 

When all without is night. 

Our feet may leave the home, 

But never will our heart; 
For the heart and home 

Will not, can not part. 



24 



The writer has never found a truer friend of woman than 
our poet hero; for his grace is so kin to womanhood. In not 
a few poems the poet pays high tribute to wife, mother and 
daughter. The reader will be glad to read the following poem 
from one who is ever ready to pluck a thorn and drop a flower 
in woman's uneven path. 

JUST A WOMAN. 

Was ever there a woman 

Whose heart was never tired? 
Was ever there a woman 

Who has never cried? 
Was ever a flower given 

That she didn't bless the bringer? 
Was ever a mockingbird 

A sweeter-hearted singer? 

Oh, I answer, "No!" 

This life would be a dross 
Without a woman's love 

And a woman's cross. 
For each a cross must have 

Who is holding fast 
A love within her heart 

From memories of the past. 

25 



It's just a woman's love 

Of a woman's heart, 
For holy love and woman 

Can not stay apart. 
God did honor woman 

With the Savior's birth, 
For He knew that she 

Was queen of all the earth. 

If you strive to please 

And often feel at loss, 
There is help from Him 

Who bled upon the cross. 
For he is woman's friend 

Who was sent to earth 
To heal the broken heart 

And come of woman's birth. 

Unlike some poets who make a comedy of love, our hero 
knows that love is sacred; love is in his sermons, in his eyes, 
in his voice; for his soul is love. Is it not proper to define 
one's soul as being love? Proof: "God is love." "God made 
man in his own image." That is, in His spiritual image or 
soul image. All that is good in the world is directly or indi- 
rectly from love. 

The noble soul whose love goes out to meet its kinship in 
other souls, somewhere will find a sympathetic friend; and 

26 



like the balmy breeze that associates with the flowers, each 
noble soul will carry delicious fragrance for the enjoyment of 
others all along its glad way. Let us not look upon love as a 
stranger in our midst, but a living reality, ever present — itself 
our soul's life. 

Again our hero expresses in verse some more sweet thoughts 
of love. 

Love is not a stranger — 

That dear, sweet thing — 
But like summer flowers 

Whose fragrance fling 
Their sweet, warm breath 

Against my heart; 
And in mine eyes 

The tear drops start. 

Not tears of sorrow 

Too often shed — 
But of devotion 

And joy instead. 
Stay! holy love. 

My heart to stir. 
And light the future 

Like days that were. 

Happiness is not always born on a bed of sunbeams amid 
silver clouds. Even when the day is shadowed by some dark 
sorrow, the optimistic eye can either look to the future in 

27 



cheerful hope ; or backward in sweet memory of happy days 
that were. In memory's gallery are many sacred pictures of 
unfading brightness. To sit in meditation of happy "by- 
gones" is to engage in gratitude's prayer; and such a prayer 
never ascended but that heaven sent its blessings down upon 
the soul that prayed. This moment you can shut your eyes 
and see more in memory's gallery than to open your eyes to 
behold the limited scenes around you. The horizon is where 
the clouds and earth seem to meet ; but go to where the horizon 
now seems — and it will still be the same distance away. So we 
can not see very far ahead in life's uncertain journey; but no 
power save death, can prevent us from looking backward — 
as far as fancy may carry our thoughts on white wings of 
ease. 

The pessimist alone looks backward upon unpleasant 
scenes and forward on predicted unpleasantness. The optim- 
ist not only sees the silver lining of the dark cloud and lives 
in a beautiful castle of hope, but looks backward upon happy 
*'by-gones" and lives his childhood again ; sees the dear, sa- 
cred pictures in memory's gallery and keeps his spirit sweet. 

Again our poetic hero gives us a poem which illustrates 
what I desire to say. In reading his lines may you, with the 
poet, draw "mind pictures" and sit in the bliss of memory's 
gallery, where a thousand sweet things are recorded and are 
at your command. 



28 



IN MEMORY'S GALLERY. 

If you would see, O friend, 

Gently close your eyes 
And every rainbow color 

Will illume the skies; 
For the fairest pictures 

That forever last 
Are in memory's gallery — 

The unforgotten past. 

Now I close mine eyes 

While I sit alone 
To recall the past 

With thoughts of every zone. 
And while I'm sitting here 

I sail a thousand seas; 
I hold a slender hand 

And sink upon my knees. 

For I have to pray 

To thank the God of Love 
That the gentle breeze 

Did my vessel shove 
O'er the sea of thought 

To the laughing shore — 
Where flowers wither not, 

But blossom evermore. 

29 



In dear memory's gallery- 
Are my golden treasures, 

Gathered from the past 
Of a thousand pleasures. 

And should my present wants 
Never be supplied, 

The scenes in memory's gallery 
Would make me satisfied. 

I only reach my hand 

And close mine eyes to look- 
To gather buds of childhood 

By the babbling brook. 
And I see again 

The darling that I kissed 
And the pleasant strolls 

The other fellow missed. 



To-day I sit in dream — 

A dream almost divine — 
Thinking of a love 

That's forever mine. 
And it lights the future 

Like the golden past, 
For 'tis only love 

That makes heaven last. 

30 



The meanest flower that blooms has a blessing for man, 
bee or butterfly. It takes a noble, large soul to enjoy and 
appreciate flowers. 

Remember the gay butterfly that flits from flower to flower 
and makes its heaven in the garden, had to grow into a nobler 
being ere its ability for enjoyment. When the butterfly was 
yet a worm, beautiful flowers lost their fragrance in the sweet 
air where it creepeth and the poor dull thing never knew the 
sweetness thereof. Not only did God desire us to appreciate 
flowers when He said, "Consider the lillies," but His delight 
is that we also learn from His singing birds, a foretaste of 
heavenly music, for our God says that "He notes the sparrow's 
fall." 

Then, that which is not too small to attract the attention 
of the Creator of the world and everything therein, is certainly 
worthy of our thought and appreciation. 

No poet ever lived whose love for birds and flowers sur- 
passed the love of our poet hero; and in the verse which fol- 
lows is a whole sermon in rhyme; and students of the Bible 
will find in it a message well told. 

HE NOTES THE FALLEN SPARROW. 

The One who said, "Consider 

The liUies of the field" 
Is the author of a love 

That never was repealed. 

31 



And never can it be; 

For He who cured the lame 
And heals the broken heart 

Remaineth just "the same." 

The One who paints the lillies 

And made the babbling rills 
Also "owns the cattle 

On a thousand hills." 
And His loving eyes 

See the fallen sparrow 
When cruel hands have loosened 

The piercing, deadly arrow. 

Every foot that trods 

"The straight and narrow way" 
Makes a track toward heaven 

At labor or at play. 
"The way" is broad enough— 

Tho,' indeed, is "narrow"; 
And He will guide us home 

Who notes the fallen sparrow. 

"He who notes the sparrow's fall" 
Has made "the way" so plain 

That not one honest heart 
Will have to seek in vain. 



32 



And we're told "a fool 
Needn't err therein, 

For Jesus calleth all 

And seeks alike to win. 



Mothers will find in our poet's heart deep sentiments of 
appreciation, and in his verse sweet consolation, sympathy 
and inspiration. A mother's prayer is the silver key that 
opens heaven's golden gate; and thru her earnest pleas from 
the depth of a mother's heart, many wanderers have been 
lured from sin's benighted path to "the straight and narrow 
way" of righteousness. I would that every praying mother 
in this world of woe could read our poet's following words : 



A MOTHER'S HEART. 

I stood beside the door 

While the cradle rocked 
And saw the mother's pride 

That in her heart was locked. 
And down in her breast 

Was a love so deep — 
That death alone could sever 

From her babe asleep. 

32 



I heard the mother's voice 

In an undertone 
Which was a prayer 

Known by God alone. 
For He whose Son was born 

Of a virgin dear 
Knows a mother's heart 

And her prayers doth hear. 

Now, we will follow our poet to a white-washed cabin in 
Kentucky. In order to enjoy the poet's verses immediately 
following this comment, let us take fairy wings of ease and 
fly before the cabin door by the lane where the scene is 
painted. Around the cabin grows a patch of sugar cane; the 
rustic farmer is sitting by the door playing the violin, while 
the poet is taking in the scene while he eats some ripe apples, 
throwing the cores to the hungry chickens. 

The birds are singing in the trees as if they were also in- 
spired by the violin's music, and two kittens are playing 
beneath the tree. Presently lovers are seen eating sugar cane, 
and in the poet's fancy the winding road in front of the cabin 
changes to "Lover's Lane." In the yard are red roses and 
snowy white lilies, and across in one corner a frisky pup is 
capering over a lazy hound. In the floor lies the baby upon 
its back playing with its toe. 

34 



The farmer pauses, the bow is still a moment, while the 
good wife (woman-like), who has listened till tears fill her 
eyes, leans upon her husband's breast anxious to be wooed. 

Amid this enchanting scene, tho' only be its existence in 
the fertile field of its author's imagination, do you wonder at 
our poet writing the following inspired lines? 

BECAUSE THE VIOLIN HAD A BOW. 

Down in old Kentucky 

Amid the sugar cane 
I sat beside a cabin 

That nestled by the lane. 
The farmer played the violin 

By the open door; 
And while I ate some apples 

The chickens ate the core. 

By the white-washed cabin 

The birds began to sing — 
Catching inspiration 

From the violin string. 
And methought that heaven 

Occupied that place; 
And I saw the kittens 

In their fond embrace. 

35 



Then I saw two lovers 

Eating sugar-cane; 
And the winding road 

Changed to lover's lane. 
And I wondered why 

They walked so very slow; 
But sweethearts are in fashion, 
'Cause the violin had a bow. 

And passing by the gate 

The lovers came and went; 
For the violin talked 

And they knew what it meant. 
For it spoke of love 

As they would come and go; 
But lovers are in fashion, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



It took me back to childhood 

When I was on the farm — 
Where a little lassie 

Clung upon my arm. 
Those were happy days 

That only lovers know; 
But sweethearts were in fashion 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

36 



And by the little cabin 

The bow began to quiver — 
And methinks my tears 

Nearly made a river; 
For in its voice I heard 

A sound soft and low, 
And I thought of sweetheart, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



Then I shut mine eyes 

And saw her dimpled chin — 
Where smiles were chasing blushes 

And hiding there within. 
For I saw the darling 

"Dressed up" in calico; 
For wooing was in style, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



And methought the music 

Was better than a band, 
For in the vale of memory 

I held a slender hand. 
And I thought my heart 

Would fill and overflow; 
For childhood came again, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

Z1 



The roses in the yard 

Blushed a pretty red, 
While the farmer played 

And swung his silver head. 
And the garden lillies 

With faces white as snow 
Bended to caress, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



And the frisky pup 

Was playing with the hound- 
Active as a monkey, 

Rolling on the ground. 
And the cooing baby 

Was playing with its toe; 
And sweethearts were wooing, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



And the farmer's wife 

Leaned upon his breast; 
And 'ere the music ceased 

The woman was caressed. 
And love made that home 

A heaven here below — 
With wife and husband lovers, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

38 



Love is a sunbeam 

That lights the night of life, 
Making home a heaven 

For a man and wife. 
The heart will never age 

When thru its center flow 
The blood drops of love, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 



I like to see the aged 

Going down life's hill — 
In the path of love 

In peace and wooing still. 
For the aged hearts 

A sweetness can bestow; 
For youth and age are lovers, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

And tho' it be a cabin 

White-washed with lime, 
Love makes it a heaven — 

An eden most sublime. 
And the sugar-cane 

Bended from its row 
To greet another stalk, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

39 



And while the violin's music 

Did its beauties blend, 
I only wished its voice 

Would never, never end. 
For the joyful thrills 

The playing did bestow 
Brought me happy memories 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

Then let all the lovers 

The happy harvest sow 
And reap the grains of love 

Instead of tares of woe. 
For to them my pen 

Shall never be a foe; 
For I'm a friend of lovers, 

'Cause the violin had a bow. 

Kentucky's poet seldom writes pessimistic poems, for an 
optimist generally writes the sentiments of his own heart. 

Yet, with his fertile imagination, he sees both sides of life 
— and for a few moments he can step into the shoes of Mr. 
Pessimist and relate his woes to the world. 

It is said that the poet wrote the following poem just after 
an interview with a bachelor who had wooed a young girl in 
vain. 

40 



The poet surely read the lines of woe in the unsuccessful 
wooer's face when he wrote : 



THE LOVE-SICK BACHELOR. 

Oh, the heart is troubled! 
And its pain is doubled 
When a fellow misses 
The blisses and the kisses 
In the honeymoon carriage 
Of a happy marriage. 

Life is but a "phony" 

In anti-matrimony, 

For the joys that mingle 

When you're gay and single 

Become unwelcome hisses 

Without a woman's kisses. 



Life is dull and dreary, 

Days are long and weary 

When man is straying 

In his sore dismaying 

From the path that's flower-bedded 

Where the true are wedded. 

41 



The love-sick bachelor described in the above poem was 
woeful because he chose to wear the "robe of cares." 

Or again, he may have been reaping the harvest of his own 
sowing in early life; for perhaps he, like many others, has 
"trifled with aflfection" by winning the love of some true 
woman, pretending to love her in return, when his pretention 
was a lie. If this be true, the bachelor of our comment was 
a God-made pessimist, for the Divine law is, "Whatsoever ye 
sow, that shall ye also reap." However, let us learn this 
lesson : A "God-made pessimist" does not have to remain 
a pessimist after he has reaped the harvest of his sowing, for 
then he has paid the price of his folly. 

Our merciful God will forgive, and every "reaper of woe" 
may change the seed he plants and become an optimist again. 

All of us have made mistakes; many have made the same 
mistake. But let us pray the forgiveness of the One who is 
ever ready to forgive, and throw off our robe of cares. In 
one sentence our poet expresses much in connection herewith : 

THE ROBE OF CARES. 

The man who knows 
Life's many woes 
Is he who wears 
The robe of cares. 

42 



Whether in the open fields, woodland or secluded in his 
sitting room, our poet is never lonely, for his thoughts surely 
entertain him. I would that all of us could, like our hero, be 
at home with our thoughts no matter where we go, for I truly 
believe that contentment is from contented thoughts. "As a 
man thinketh, so he is." — Bible. 

AT HOME WITH THOUGHTS. 

My joy is deep as the ocean; 

My trouble is light as its foam; 
And where my hat is off 

I am at "home, 3weet home." 
And I am contented 

As the cow that "chews her cud"; 
My thoughts are jolly company 

In city, valley or wood. 

My thoughts are my companions — 

And I am their guest. 
For we abide together 

At work, playtime or rest. 
And if the day is sunny 

Or filled with cloud and rain, 
My thoughts never fail 

Their guest to entertain. 

43 



Companionship is the one word which makes matrimony- 
worth while. But, alas ! many married persons are not com- 
panions. To be companions, the two must be one in sacrifice, 
loyalty and love. To be happy, each must strive to please the 
other; and be no cause for mistrust. Doubtless there are times 
when our poet's heart yearns for companionship, for in his 
following lines he sees God's mated species of birds, fishes, 
rivers, flowers, and even the blades of grass : 

COMPANIONSHIP. 
The mated birds are happy 

And linger close together; 
Love walks with love 

And will walk forever! 
And the countless fishes 

Are mated in the sea; 
Then why not my darling 

Livest thou with me? 

The blades of grass together 

Grow to healthy green; 
And flowers bloom together 

Living there between. 
And as brook meets river 

And journeys to the sea, 
Will you, oh! my darling. 

Journey now with me? 

44 



The sunbeams and the flowers 

Hold each other's hand; 
The shells by the seashore 

Sleep in golden sand. 
The honey in the blossom 

Lures the busy bee; 
So natural is companionship, 

Then why not you and me? 



At the first thought you will think our poet is giving queer 
advice when he says "Kiss the cook." But ere long you will 
agree that many cooks are hungry for kisses — for frowns are 
given instead. 

I like to see men who possess enough gratitude to distin- 
guish them from hogs. The man who eats good biscuits made 
by the dear hands of wife, sister, daughter or mother, and 
never ''praises the cook," is acting but half a man. The hog 
also eats his fill beneath the apple tree with nothing but a 
"grunt." 

Don't frown and growl if the meal is accidentally "below 
the standard" but say: "Well, dear, the good meals of the 
past more than make up for accidents." 

Do this, meaning it deep down in your heart, and "the 
cook" will not make many "accidents." 

45 



Woman craves appreciation; she longs for sympathy; but 
alas, too many get it not. 

KISS THE COOK. 

If I gave enough advice 

To fill a massive book, 
On every page I'd write: 

"Be sure to kiss the cook." 
For cooks are fond of kisses — 

And the finest bread 
Awaits the man who praises 

The simple, dainty spread. 

When no one is near 

To interfere or look, 
My advice to you 

Is to kiss the cook. 
Of course, I mean to say — 

To avoid all strife — 
That this advice applies 

When the cook's your wife. 



46 



In reading the complete works of our poet, doubtless some 
will ask if he has "ever been disappointed in love," for there 
is a tearful flow in many poems. This question came to my 
mind and I was not satisfied to write this biographical sketch 
without knowing. At last, I decided that the best way to 
determine this question satisfactorily was to ask our hero 
whether he had ever been disappointed in love. 

I was frank in asking the question and obtained an honest 
reply none the less frank. The answer was, *'No." 

But our hero is human. 

He has wooed ladies who have since passed out of his life; 
but to use his own words, the courtship was ended "by mutual 
agreement." 

I accused our poet of being "a disappointed lover." His 
reply was : "You might as well accuse me of being a mother, 
because I write with a mother's sentiment." 

I am glad to give so definite an answer to my reader, for 
"love" comprises so large a portion of his works. 

However, in reading the whole, I find that our hero's writings 
on love are largely optimistic; and the saddest phase of love is 
expressed in his following verse : 



47 



LOVE'S GRIEF. j 

I 

Love's way is steep; 
And depth and height 

Is often reached < 

i 

Thru blackest night. ' 

And the one who sorrows i 

With a cause to grieve ! 
Gives to one their love 

And love doth not receive. j 

The reader will be pleased to know some of the existing '. 
conditions under which the following poem was written. 

Its author was conducting a revival meeting in a Kentucky ! 

town when several young ladies invited the ''poet-preacher" i 

to take a stroll with them in the ''daisy field." Our poet ' 

accepted the invitation; and while the girls gathered daisies '] 

in the beautiful valley, their guest sat beneath a tree and I 
wrote the following: 



48 



WITH THE DAISIES. 

In the field of daisies 

Where lovers long have trod 
Methinks I hear the whispers 

Of kind Nature's God. 
For "He who notes the sparrow" 

Surely hears their song — 
And gives them inspiration 

And their lives prolong. 

In the field of daisies 

Our wandering feet may tread- 
Where the pretty blossoms 

Lift their yellow head. 
And here in solitude 

Amid their fragrant smell, 
The daisies nod and bow 

At strollers in the dell. 

The song birds are singing 

While the others hop 
O'er the field and meadow 

From hill to mountain top. 
And methinks their music 

Among the daisies here 
Is full of youth and joy, 

Mingled with a tear. 

49 



The sky is blue and crimson 

Beneath heaven's dome — 
And earth and heaven meet 

Where daisies have their home; 
For here, indeed, is beauty! 

Not from an artist's hand — 
But only equaled yonder 

In heaven's happy land. 



The pretty, sloping hillsides 

Dressed in robes of green 
Are beautified with daisies 

Blooming here between. 
And here is Lover's eden — 

Where the air is sweet 
Amid the nodding daisies 

At kind Nature's feet. 



Oh! sweet, blooming daisies — 

My queenly summer flower — 
I love thee as a friend 

Every day and hour. 
And when I stroll among you 

My pen is light and free — 
For of all the flowers 

The daisy is for me. 

SO 



In thy yellow hair 

Is a speck of black — 
And when we leave you here 

You seem to call us back. 
For here we find a welcome 

Amid your stately bloom — 
Away from town and city 

Where there is plenty room. 

And here may lovers ramble 

And tell the olden story — 
Till it newer seems 

In its sacred glory. 
For in this blooming valley 

Is love and sweetest bliss — 
Where even nodding daisies 

Seem to woo and kiss. 

When we tire of roaming 

O'er the meadow lawn — 
The daisies seem to smile 

And lure us on and on. 
And the skies are golden 

When we sit at rest — 
With a bunch of daisies 

Pinned upon our breast. 

51 



And there the living daisy- 
Hears our throbbing heart — 

And lies its pretty head 

And withers ere we part. 

And if the daisies told 

The lover's thought and word — 

They would be the sweetest 
The angels ever heard. 

Good-bye, pretty daisies — 

The falling rain and dew 
Will visit you from heaven, 

For Jesus cares fo-r you. 
And now we journey homeward, 

But with sweeter thought 
Of the noble lessons 

Which you, sweet daisies, taught. 



52 



• WHERE LOVE IS. 

A mansion is a cottage; 

Yea, 'tis but a hut! 
Where the door of pride 

Is closed with love outshut. 
And let me tell you this — 

Listen! gentle reader: 

rd rather have a cottage 

By a lonely cedar — 
If love is there 

With its golden hope — 
Than a shaded mansion 

Where love and peace elope. 



LOVE LED ME BY THE HAND. 

There is an olden proverb 

Which says, "Love is blind"; 
But Love's eyes are perfect 

And Love is very kind. 
Love took me thru the dell — 

Led me by the hand; 
Led me where I knew not 

O'er river, sea and land. 

53 



'Twas I who was blind; : 

The fault was all in me. \ 

But since I go with Love i 

I stumble not, but see. ! 

I see the blossoms of the skies 

Set in the vault of night; 
And since I'm led by Love 

The world is full of light. 

Love led me by the hand, 

Leading just before — ] 

Thru unknown paths of beauty ' 

Will lead me evermore. 

The south wind's balmy kiss ] 

. .. - ■ 1 
Swung flowers to and fro; , 

And I have promised love 

With her to ever go. 

God's strongest command is love ; and love makes a happy i 
home a foretaste of heaven. Love makes angels of human 
mortals, and without love no soul can abide with the redeemed ; 
in the eternal ''city not made with hands." I 

Love is the tie that binds two hearts into the oneness of ! 
holy endeavor, and is the inspiration of earth's noblest good. 

Love is life's evening star that sheds its constant Hght to 
illumine sorrow's blackest night. Without love, life would ; 
be a burden void of the beautiful. '. 

'i 

54 I 



Our hero gives to the world a heavenly blossom of undying 
fragrance in the following poem: • 

LOVE BUILDS HEAVEN. 

"God so loved the world 

That he gave His Son;" 
And His love was proven 

By the crucified One. 
Jesus said, "I go 

To prepare a place for you." 
Then if love gave us Jesus, 

It gives us heaven, too. 

Love builds an earthly heaven 

In which to go to heaven in; 
For earth is an eden 

To the heart that hateth sin. 
And he who is the richest 

Gives his love away; 
For truly love is needed 

To pave the "Narrow way." 



55 



SHE IS SO SWEET. 

I have a girl so charming 

And so very sweet 
That the clover blossoms 

Kiss her cunning feet. 
And if I were a bee 

Seeking honey tips, 
I'd suck the honey 

From her rosy lips. 

And the fragrant breezes 

Kiss each floating curl 
Which adorns her head, 

Making them unfurl. 
And the dew-kissed flowers 

I pinned upon her dress 
Seem to lure her eyes, 

Begging her caress. 

The sun with arms of gold 

Her slender form embrace, 
While a thousand sunbeams 

Are born upon her face. 
And if I were a sunbeam, 

The love-light in her eye 
Would be my pretty bride 

Or else I'd want to die. 

56 



THE SCHOOL OF LOVE. 

The dew-kissed flowers of the morning 

Bring thoughts of love without a warning. 

And in my walk I stop to pray, 

For love doth crown each new-born day. 

The bird that sings as he flies 

Charms my ears and longing eyes; 

And when he flees beyond the cloud 

My pen is busy, my head is bowed. 

And only a lover can understand 

The easy flow of a poet's hand; 

For when with love the heart is stirred 

The soul dictates each written word. 

The heart that feels the true and good 

Can not be misunderstood. 

And love can never turn to hate. 

For love's the key to heaven's gate. 

In pretty Eden love began; 

And since has been the goal of man. 

And the God who gave it birth 

Made love the holiest thing of earth. 

My life is sweet; love makes it so; 

And a lover can only know 

The deep, sweet joy that love has brought 

Since at Love's school I have been taught. 

57 



LOVE IS HERE. 

Let my heart be singing, 

For love is here; 
Ope' the golden gate, 

For heaven is near. 
Sing, sweet nightingale; 

Grow, roses, grow; 
Babble, dear, old brook; 

Flow, cool waters, flow. 

Let music and melody 

And praises and rhyme 
Mingle in beauty 

For immortal time. 
For love is here — 

*Tis here at last I 
And all the darkness 

And shadows have passed. 

WITH THEE. 

The wind gently whispers 

The sound of joy entralling. 
And the mockingbird 

Thy dear name is calling. 
And I sit alone 

With every moment blessed; 
For I think of thee 

When at prayer and rest. 

58 



I'm living in your sunshine; 

I'm living in the shade; 
I'm living in the heaven 

Which your love hath made. 
My heart leaves its bosom 

To with thee abide, 
For I'm truly happy 

When I'm by your side. 

No matter where I wander 

Or what roof I'm beneath— 
I'm in a flower garden 

Where I make a wreath. 
For my thoughts are flowers 

Since the day we met; 
For I loved you then 

And I love you yet. 

When I look into your face 

Those dreamy, violet eyes 
Make me quite forget 

The beauty of the skies. 
For when I'm with thee 

All others I forget. 
For thy love-light glows 

When the sun is set. 

59 



LOVE IN DREAM'S PARADISE. 

Time has made us fonder, 

And love doth linger near 
To lighten every shadow 

And kiss away the tear. 
Love is like a fairy 

To light the darken places, 
And drives away the frowns 

To make the smiling faces. 

I hear the birds a-singing 

Amid my sweetest rest; 
And they linger near, 

Obeying my request. 
Love is in my dreaming, 

And my thoughts entice 
The happy warbling birds 

To sing in Paradise. 

The paradise of dreams 

Is the lover's land 
Where flowers bloom forever 

Above the golden sand. 
In the blessed future 

When dreams come true 
I'll then relate 

My happy dreams to you. 

60 



A DREAM OF THE ONE I CAN'T FORGET. 

Last night while all was sleeping 

The dew had fallen wet, 
I fell asleep and dreamed 

Of the one I can't forget. 
Somewhere within the border 

Of the shadowed night 
Her eyes were like the stars 

That make the heavens bright. 

The deep, blue shade of evening 

Stretched across the land; 
And the sky was painted 

By an artist's hand. 
The silver moon was shining 

Amid the clouded peaks; 
The splendor of the flowers 

Were copied from her cheeks. 

The night's enchanting songs 

In a whispering tone, 
Bade me lie and listen 

In my room alone. 
And thru the open window 

When the moon had set 
Came in garments white 

The one I can't forget. 

61 



And standing in the beauty 

Of a lover's smile 
She waited there in silence 

To let me dream awhile. 
With open arms of welcome 

Where earth and heaven met 
A poet's dream was ended 

Of the one he can't forget. 

LOVE AND I. 

Love and I were camping 

Beneath the starry tent; 
The moonlight was our blanket 

As it came and went. 
By the valley pathway 

The flowers bloomed anew, 
While the heavens showered 

Down the sparkling dew. 

The mockingbird was singing 

Its thrills of sweet delight, 
And its voice was blended 

With music of the night. 
And a brook was gushing 

From the mountain side; 
And in the arms of Nature 

We were satisfied. 

62 



We heard a hundred voices 

Ere we went to sleep, 
And the brook was singing 

Down the mountain steep. 
And in the arms of Night 

By the singing stream 
We closed our eyes in slumber 

In a poet's dream. 

Love and I are partners 

And with each other dwell- 
In the mountain shadows 

Or in the blooming dell. 
We are true companions 

And where one is sent 
The other goes along 

To make each content. 

Love enjoys my company 

And can not stay apart 
From a poet's thoughts 

And a lover's heart. 
For my heart's its home, 

And it will ever guide 
My steps o'er leas of joy 

Where love and I abide. 

63 



1 
Tho' our poet is in the blossom of young manhood, his i 

verse appeals to old and young alike. Safe to say he will ! 
never grow old in heart, for ''souls of love" do not age. Let ' 
us catch his spirit of youth (tho* some of us be already near- 
ing the grave) and be young again. Be young with the same 
sweet love which made childhood a foretaste of heaven. May 
our hero live to enjoy the "youthfulness of age" when a useful j 
life will have been spent and millions yet unborn will have 
read his poems of inspiration. 

If you would that the "childish-aged" be sweeter-spirited, 
begin now in yourself, and you, for one, will realize the attain- 
ment of our poet's following lines : i 



MY HEART GROWS YOUNGER. 

When my face shall wrinkle 

And my locks are gray 
My heart will be a blossom — 

The fairest one in May. 
As I pass the milestones 

Of the fleeting years 
My heart is growing younger 

In the pool of tears. 

64 



While passing thru 

Life's bitter phases 
ri stop and rest 

Amid the daisies. 
And thoughts of love 

Will make me young 
When youthful songs 

Will have have been sung. 

IN THE CITY. 

God has set a billion diamonds 

In the bosom of the night; 
Man has dressed a darkened city 

With a flood of mellow light. 
I am sitting by my window 

Looking o'er the crowded street, 
Listening to the mingling voices 

And the sound of horses feet. 

Far above the dear, old city 

The moon is shining yellow gold, 
Softly falling on the house tops. 

Shining as it shone of old. 
And beneath the sloping house tops 

Is a world of joy within; 
For love can make a home 

Be the roof of slate or tin. 

65 



Flowing by the dear, old city 

Winds the river with its song, 
Singing with the same old music 

Ever floating on and on. 
And life is like unto the river 

When in heaven — God, with Thee — 
We'll reach our distant home 

As the river finds the sea. 



God, protect the dear, old city! 

Every home and standing wall; 
For in mercy thou has promised 

To even note "the sparrow's fall.' 
Bless the hands that toil and labor, 

For to them the city owes 
The progress of the desert 

Which has "blossomed as the rose. 



Looking out upon the city 

We behold the passing crowd. 
Some are rich, some are toilers, 

Some are humble, some are proud. 
Some are renters, some are brokers. 

Yet the richest of them all 
And the poorest was the Savior 

Who was born within a stall. 



And the honest man who labors 

Gets the praises of my pen, 
For a carpenter was Jesus 

When he taught the sons of men. 
And methinks that every mother 

Is a gem of priceless worth, 
For 'twas a holy woman 

Who gave our Savior birth. 

Aud our meek and loving Master, 

Whose heart is full of pity, 
Was born in the manger 

In a crowded city. 
For the inn was crowded 

As they in many cities arc; 
But the stall was lighted 

By heaven's evening star. 

Looking out upon the city 

With a prayer for every home 
I behold the sons of men 

Who in sin and sadness roam. 
But the love of Christ 

Who bled upon the tree 
Offers peace and pardon — 

A priceless gift, but free. 

67 



God not only made the earth and "called it good," but He 
dressed it in a beautiful gown of green grass which adorns its 
exterior like the stars adorn the evening sky. 

There is beauty in the grass unnoticed by thousands, who, 
'^having eyes to see, but see not." The grass which provides 
alike a bed for the **weary tramp" and the prowling beasts, 
also adorns the barren earth with new life, beautifying the 
home, giving food to hungry grazers, cheerfulness to envi- 
ronment, and wealth to the commercial world. 

Try to imagine the dire result were grass extinct from the 
earth. 

Surely any poet could write of flowers, but not every one 
can hold a blade of grass before the world and show therein 
the value and beauty of its possession. The Creator, *'who 
doeth all things well," clothed His creation with green and 
inspired our hero to thusly declare its beauty : 



68 



GRASS. 

I am not a flower, 

Yet I am the queen 
Of every growing blossom 

And every sprig of green. 
Were it not for me 

To carpet field and vale, 
The earth would be a desert — 

A plain of no avail. 

Boasting not the fragrance 

Of the summer rose, 
My path is everywhere 

The wind-god blows. 
Boasting not the color 

Of a single flower, 
I comprise the wealth 

Of earth's greatest dower. 

From yonder grassy mountain 

To a distant hill 
My seed is safely planted 

From the sparrow's bill. 
And where I touch the earth 

The barren peaks are rife 
With a rug of beauty 

And a touch of life. 

69 



I climb the giant cliflfs 

Where man has never been, 
And there I feel at home 

As well as in the glen. 
Should I refuse to grow 

For a single year — 
Failure, woe and famine 

Would be approaching near. 

I beautify the mansion 

Or the humble cot; 
I make a pretty lawn 

Of a cheerless spot. 
I kiss the feet of paupers; 

I kiss the feet of kings; 
I'm the "stamping ground" of herds 

And a thousand things. 

Beneath the winter snow 

When you'd think me dead 
I'm waiting for the spring 

To lift my sleepy head. 
For when the golden sun 

Wakes me with a kiss, 
My bed a-rife with green, 

Forgets its loneliness. 
70 



I cover all the meadows 

For the grazing flocks; 
I penetrate the earth 

Above the giant rocks. 
I border winding streams 

And beautify the shore; 
The sky is my roof 

And I am heaven's floor. 

And every one I welcome 

Of myself to share; 
And when you come to my house 

You'll always find me there. 
Come and sit upon me, 

For I am cool and clean; 
And of Nature's carpets 

I am surely queen. 



Fairer than the flowers 

Of every name and class 
Is a pretty lawn 

Composed of common grass. 
For of all the beauties 

I have ever seen 
A simple blade of grass 

Is the stately queen. 
71 



He who is guided by love will reach the silver heights of 
happiness in the end. No matter how steep the mountain 
before you, or how "mirery" the valley around you, love will 
pave the way with gold and "burn the bridges behind you." 
Foes and conflict retreat and fade from love's way like the 
darkness fades before the morning light. But great things are 
not done in a day. The patient God took His own good time 
in perfecting creation. 

"Time," the "error-mender" and the "love-defender," will 
in its own glad season, remove the obstacles from your feet 
and place them anew as stepping stones to reach the goal. 
Large souls are born not "on flowery beds of ease," but often 
"in the rough." 

But "the greatness" of a large soul is measured by the 
"struggles in the rough." 

The man who grows to manhood without "trials" to tem- 
per his character is but half a man; his vision is narrow; his 
capacity is small. 

If you want to enlarge a balloon, fill it within. So with 
man. Man's largeness is measured not by exterior adornment. 
Too many "black hearts" are living beneath "white linen." 
Man paves his own way by his aspirations, and the world 
largely accepts him at his self-value. 

The buzzard is not an ugly bird; but is little respected 
because of its low aspiration. 

72 



The eagle is king of the bird world because of his high 
aspiration to soar above the ''storm cloud." Man, to be much 
and do much, must soar his aspiration on gilded wings far 
above the cloud and storm of life. 

And if he resumes his flight above the "storm of woe," it 
is his holy aspiration which will keep him above the gulf of 
failure. Small ships cannot buffet the waves of life's sea. 
Love enlarges the soul; and large souls can rise above the 
storm-ridden tide. 

In every rosebud is the heart of the rose; but it takes sun- 
light, rain and shadow to perfect its blossom. In the heart 
of every man is a spark of love ; and this spark is capable, by 
cultivation, of becoming a mighty flame. 

Great fires are started from small sparks; and it takes the 
wind to fan them into greatness. So in man, the wind of 
adversity only enlarges the blaze. 

Love your way thru the world. Love your enemies 
into friends. Love melts cold, selfish hearts into friendship. 
Love opened up the way thru "the red sea" and closed the way 
behind to destroy the enemies. That's "burning the bridges 
behind you." 

Love never has and never will fail. "God is love;" and 
love will ever guide you. Let the world "read as it runs" the 
following words of our poet : 

7Z 



LOVE WILL GUIDE YOU. 

Tho' the road be rugged 

O'er grief's benighted way, 
The star of love will guide you 

To a purer, fairer day. 
For the soul of man enlarges 

And the heart forgets its pain — 
When life to love surrenders 

Letting only peace remain. 

Free thy soul from every idle! 

And the love which fear defied 
Will put to flight all evil 

And conquer selfish pride. 
Love will "burn the bridges" 

Across the stream of woe — 
Leaving far behind you 

Each evil-minded foe. 

If your way is rugged 

And the stones have tried you. 
Crowns of peace are waiting 

Where love will ever guide you. 
If the road is rugged 

Be thou not resigned, 
For future's way is brighter 

Than the fairest way behind. 

74 



IN THE VILLAGE OF YOUTH. 

When I lived in the village of youth 

Lakes were as large as the oceans. 
I dreamed of the life of "grown-ups" 

Devising a thousand-odd notions. 
Apples adorning the orchard, 

Bumble-bees flying about, , 
Children eating green apples 

Amid the laughter and shout. 

The world was full of sunshine; 

Life was springtime and summer. 
The singing birds were welcome 

And every joyous comer. 
Dreams in the eyes of maidens, 

Wooing in man's attention — 
And walks 'mid clover blossoms 

Where joy was not a pretention. 

The town seemed larger than city; 

Manhood seemed a century away. 
Our goal was a romp in the meadow; 

Our pasttime was laughter and play. 
The harmless shadows of evening 

Were full of tigers and bears; 
And the sweet joys of childhood 

Outnumbered our ills and cares. 

75 



I loved in the village of youth 

And my heart came out of its prison; 
I wooed in the morning of life 

Till the sun was higher risen. 
I dreamed in the village of youth 

Till evening caressed the morning; 
But dreams, like the apple blossoms, 

Were only a brief adorning. 

TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER. 

Don't say that the world is evil 

And every one's out for the money; 
Don't mimic the goal of the buzzard — 

But the bee that seeks the honey: 
For life is a withering blossom 

Containing the bitter and sweet; 
And its fruit will ripen in heaven 

If we stay at the Savior's feet. 

As in the tender heart of the rosebud 

Is sleeping a beautiful rose — 
So in the heart of each man 

Doth the flower of goodness repose. 
And to awaken the flower, 

You must be patient and kind — 
Seeing not the evil prevailing, 

For 'tis often wise to be blind. 

1(i 



The world will never grow better 

With a pessimistic redeemer; 
But life's beautiful dreams 

Are born of a joyful dreamer. 
The Savior "came not to condemn"; 

Not merely to reform, 
But stood upon the sea 

And calmed the raging storm. 

Not to condemn, but redeem 

Was the Savior's glad mission — 
Calming the storm in the heart 

In its troubled condition. 
And if the storm of trouble 

In your heart is abiding. 
Remember, in the shadows of night 

A beautiful star is hiding. 

To some comes large opportunity, to others small, to others 
none. 

To the latter I fain would cheer — and indeed there is for him 
a chance. Self-made opportunity asks favor from no one — and 
often is the wing which flies highest above the gulf of failure. 
And he whose opportunity is small, truly has a right to be en- 
couraged; for ere the butterly — a worm; ere the flower — a tiny 
seed; ere the mountain trail — the valley journey; and often ere 
the greatest victory is temporary defeat. All sunshine or all 



shade can not develop one sprig of the vegetable kingdom. 

So with man. The shadows of sorrow if we meditate upon 
their lessons, make us stronger, truer and better equipped to 
meet every phase of life. 

To every man who possesses a true spirit — the shadows, the 
small beginning and the struggles of life only mean that he is 
going to succeed. 

Expect a new morning to succeed each black night — for 'tis 
Nature's law. So with human life. 

THE VALLEY PATHWAY. 

In the smallest bud that ever grew 

A perfect flower reposes; 
Sun and cloud and rain and dew 

Bring forth the perfect roses. 

And be it so in the life of man — 

At first the step is small; 
Ere he is able to say "I can" 

Into his life some cloud must fall. 

And he who climbs the mountain height 

Must go the valley way — 
Expecting shadows of the night 

Before the dawn of day. 

78 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

Secluded in the woodland 

In summer's leafy June 
I'm sitting in the splendor 

Of the yellow moon. 
And mingling in the air 

The voices that prevail 
In sweetness can't compare 

To thine, dear nightingale. 

To-night I hear a voice 

From yonder leafy limb 
That charms my very heart 

Like a sacred hymn. 
And the moonlit dell 

Beneath the sky is pale 
While I pause to hear 

Thy song, dear nightingale. 

While the earth is sleeping 

The shadows of the night 
Seclude the happy songster 

Beyond the human sight. 
The dogs are in the woodland 

Running down a trail. 
The dell is full of song 

From thee, sweet nightingale. 

79 



There is enough of heaven 

In thy charming voice 
To fill the soul with joy 

And make the heart rejoice. 
Tho' tiny be thy throat 

And be thy body frail, 
Thou art large enough 

To sing, dear nightingale. 

And thy cheerful song 

Upon the evening air 
Seems to fill my heart 

And drive away my care. 
Be other songs forgotten, 

Memory can not fail 
To remember thine, 

My cheerful nightingale. 

Often in the night 

Many hearts that pine 
Fain would rejoice 

To hear that song of thine. 
I, too, would sing for others' 

And shadowed lives avail 
If I had a voice 

Like thine, dear nightingale. 

80 



BY THE SURGING SEA. 

I like to stand on the golden sand 

And see the waves retreat; 
For on their tide the vessels ride 

And the rolling waves are fleet. 
Like unique things with mammoth wings 

The ships are coming in; 
And here I sit and thoughts commit 

Of where the ships have been. 

Before our doors from distant shores 

O'er a trackless road 
Comes the freight in value great 

And at our docks unload. 
The ships go back o'er a watery track, 

Leaving the waves for me; 
And let my pen proclaim to men 

My thoughts by the surging sea. 

Beneath the wave in an ocean grave 

Many are the dead that sleep; 
Burried from home beneath the foam 

With no mourners there to weep. 
The wavelets tell as they roll and swell 

A message strange, to me; 
And a thousand tales of giant whales 

Belong to the surging sea. 

81 



A LAST WORD. 

Dear reader, in reviewing this little book, you have read 
only a few of hundreds of William Lee Popham's poems. The 
poems you have read in this book do not appear in any of his 
other books. Therefore, in ordering another book of poems 
by the same author, no two will be alike or the same. You 
should never rest till you order a copy of William Lee Pop- 
ham's new book of verse entitled : 

"Poems of Truth, Love and Power." 
200 Pages. 240 Poems. Finely Bound. Price $L50. 

Every lover of poetry should be the proud owner of this 
book. To give the reader an idea of the value of this great 
book, the "preface" is hereby printed from a copy of "Poems 
of Truth, Love and Power": 

PREFACE. 

"It is needless to say much in behalf of this volume, as it 
speaks for itself louder than echoes of tongue or pen. 

"This book is original. It is of the Author's brain and 
heart. 

"This volume will be appreciated by all lovers of nature, 
beautiful sentiments, echoes of kindness, love and hope, advo- 
cates of Christianity and dreamers. 

82 



"This work throughout is of matchless simplicity. It ap- 
peals to the better nature of man. 

"Its sentiment kisses the beauty-land of flowers, love, 
womanhood, music and art. It is affectionate, romantic and 
dreamy. This work is ideal for school, church and home. 

"Poems may be found herein to suit nearly every occasion. 
Here's a rich field for school commencements, parlor gather- 
ings, Christmas celebrations, the stage and entertainments in 
general. 

"Herein is a choice collection for elocution teachers and 
their pupils, and ministers of the Gospel. Many a brief sermon 
is preached in poems. Ministers of every religious sect will 
quote some of these gems in their pulpits. 

"And well they may. Often one verse of a poem will 
express a speaker's text. 

"Some chord of life's harp of a thousand strings will utter 
sweet music in response to a tender touch. Tho' this chord 
be invisible to the pessimist, unseen by the false, and unheeded 
by the vain — yet the music is slumbering there on some golden 
key. 

"Second in beauty to the angel's message, Teace on earth, 
good will toward men,' are the sentiments of a poet — true to 
humanity and God. 

"Tho' he plays upon life's golden keys and alone hears the 
music; tho' he flies amidst the fairyland to gather flowers of 
Praise, his fiction, his rhyme, his truth — must be weighed in 
the silver scale of a poet's meaning. 

83 



" 'The truest heart can always find 
Some truth amidst the fiction; 
For you cannot bind a poet's thought 
With chains of restriction. 
A poet's thought may kiss the sky 
Where his heart is leaning — 
And tho' it be a fairy tale 
The true may catch its meaning.' — Popham. 
''Very respectfully, 

"BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
"New York City." 

Remember the Name and Price of the New Book, 
"POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER/' 

Title in Gold. Price $1.50. 

Order all copies from — 

THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., Louisville, Ky. 
Agents wanted everywhere. Write for Terms. 



84 



Books by William Lee Popham. 



Poems of Truth, Love and Power. 

Containing 200 pages and 240 poems with "thoughts that 
breathe and words that burn." To own a copy is to keep and 
cherish it as long as life lasts. This book is fully described on the 
three preceding pages in the "Preface." Title in gold. 

Price, in beautiful rich blue cloth, $1.50. 

Silver Gems in Seas of Gold. 

Containing the author's beautiful lectures, sermons and es- 
says, covering nearly every phase of human life. 

This massive volume is an ideal guide for public speakers, 
elocution pupils and composition writers. 

Persons who aspire to be much and do much in life will 
find in this book the very stepping-stones to success and hap- 
piness. Mothers will find throughout its pages sweet consola- 
tion, hope and peace in "the truth that makes you free." Its 
noble lessons should inspire the lives of our modern youth to 
nobility, progress and virtue and bless millions yet unborn. 
No home, school teacher or pupil can afford to be without this 
book. Large and complete. Title in gold. 

Price in cloth binding, $2.50. 
85 



Nut Shells of Truth. 

Being a book of short sayings and toasts of wisdom, com- 
mon sense and beauty. Unique, striking and charming. It's a 
forceful "shotgun" that hits on every side and makes no 
apology for whom it strikes. 

Replete with about one hundred pages of sentence ser- 
mons. Title in gold. 

You just ought to own a copy. 

Price in cloth binding, $1. 



FIVE BOOKS OF FICTION. 

1. The Village by the Sea 

Being a love story of romance, morality and every-day life. 

This story begins at the marriage altar and continues thru 
the experiences of married life, showing the thorns and 
flowers, sunshine and shadows. 

You will be interested in their only son's romance with a 
young woman school teacher, to whom the "young chap" 
went in the "log schoolhouse," where he easily learned "the 
first rule." The story pictures the sweetest, happiest "home 
life" to be found beneath heaven, and is full of tears that make 
the heart better for their flow. A story picturing nearly every 
side of life. No words can briefly describe its sacred beauty. 
Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 

86 



2. A Tramp's Love. 

Being a love story of a young man who left home and lost 
his wealth in speculation. One cold night he, a ragged and 
hungry tramp, rang a mansion door-bell for "a piece of bread 
and meat." A damsel with brown eyes and auburn hair an- 
swered the door bell and gave the tramp "a hand out." 

He fell in love with the damsel "on first sight" ; and it is 
very interesting to read how he brought about a courtship 
with this dashingly pretty girl. 

No one can read this great romance without being the 
better for its heart-throbs of sweetest love. 
Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 

3. Love's Rainbow Dream. 

The heroine is a romance-loving girl of "the land of 
flowers" who fell into the hands of a Gipsy fortune-teller 
whom her rival bribed to put her on a "false trail of love." 
The story tells how time changes the heroine's true lover from 
a moralist to a follower of Christ, how truth conquers false- 
hood, how love "burns its way" to seek its own ; and how two 
lovers, each unaware of the other's love, drift thru the vale 
of tears till love's every foe retreats. A story of "word paint- 
ing," unique plot and moral uplift. You will be interested to 
read what part the rainbow plays as this dreamy, dark-eyed, 
romance-loving girl starts on her hunt for happiness thru the 
blooming dells of Florida — over swollen streams to reach the 

87 . 



rainbow's end as it clung in beautiful colors to the bosom of 
heaven and pointed to the "land of her dream." 
Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 

4. She Dared to Win. 

A love story relating the wooing of a poet and a girl artist. 

You will read with uncommon interest how Gladys set 
''love's net" to make the acquaintance of a poet whom she had 
seen only once. 

A sweet story of ''love at first sight," where his poetry 
melts into her pictures and her drawings melt into his poetry. 

Read how this beautiful gray-eyed girl of twenty summers 
dared to win. 

Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 

3. The Valley of Love. 

Being a story of two cousins in love with an author — de- 
scribing his trip in the Kentucky mountains, where he wrote 
his new book and dreamed and wooed in Love's valley. You 
will be charmed to read how each cousin plans to win the 
same man and will enjoy roaming with the author on fairy 
wings of fiction o'er sunny hills and shady dells where earth 
and heaven meet in Kentucky. 

Price, in cloth binding, 50c. 

The foregoing described seven-dollar-and-fifty-cent series 
of eight books make an ideal series for every home; and no 
library is complete without them. The special price for the 

88 



above described series is only $6. A saving of $1.50 if the 
series is ordered together. 

4 

Books sent at once on receipt of price. Send all orders to 

THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., 
Louisville, Ky. 

Agents Wanted Everywhere. 

WRITE FOR TERMS. 



89 



How to Get William Lee Popham's Books FREE. 

Any reader may earn one or all of William Lee Popham's 
books by taking a few orders for this book — "Love Poems 
and the Boyhood of Kentutky's Poet" — among their neigh- 
bors. Use this copy in taking orders; and when the required 
number of orders are secured, collect the retail price from 
your customers and remit same to the World Supply Co., 
Louisville, Ky. Then the books so ordered will be shipped, 
prepaid, to you at once, together with the free book or books 
we offer from William Lee Popham's pen for your service. 
Have your friends read the prose and verse you like in the 
copy you own, entitled "Love Poems and the Boyhood of 
Kentucky's Poet," and you can easily earn any of the poet's 
books you desire. 

To all readers who want to earn one or all of William Lee 
Popham's books by taking orders for "Love Poems and the 
Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet" we hereby make the following 
liberal and permanent offer: 

"POEMS OF TRUTH, LOVE AND POWER" 

for selling six paper-bound copies of "Love Poems and 
the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or three cloth-bound 
copies. 
"SILVER GEMS IN SEAS OF GOLD" 

for selling ten paper-bound copies of "Love Poems and 
the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or five cloth-bound 
copies. 

90 



"NUTSHELLS OF TRUTH" 

for selling four paper-bound copies of ''Love Poems and 
the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet," or two cloth-bound 
copies. 

You are only required to sell two paper-bound copies or 
one cloth-bound copy of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of 
Kentucky's Poet" to earn either of the following five books : 
"The Village by the Sea." 
"A Tramp's Love." 

"Love's Rainbow Dream." 

"She Dared to Win." 

"The Valley of Love." 

Each paper-bound copy of "Love Poems and the Boy- 
hood of Kentucky's Poet" is to be sold for the regular price 
at 50c, and the cloth-bound copy at $L 

Use the copy you own and begin to take orders at once 
for copies of "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's 
Poet." Collect as you go, and send us the money as you take 
each order, and when you will have sent the required orders 
to earn the book you desire, we will send same to you, prepaid. 
We fill all orders the same day we receive the money. Each 
order you send us is credited to your list ; so you don't have 
to wait to send all orders at the same time. 

Thousands of readers are earning William Lee Popham's 
whole series of eight books by taking orders for this book — 
"Love Poems and the Boyhood of Kentucky's Poet." To 
earn this whole series of eight famous books you only have 

91 



to take thirty orders for the paper-bound or fifteen orders for 
the cloth-bound book — "Love Poems and the Boyhood of Ken- 
tucky's Poet." 

In case you earn the whole series of William Lee Popham's 
eight books we will not require you to send the money you 
collect in advance, but will express the books to fill your order, 
together with the series of eight books you will have earned — 
and after you will have opened the box of books in the express 
office, counting them carefully, you may pay the money to 
the express agent, who will forward same to us. There is an 
extra charge for "C. O. D." return, but we will pay for same 
and also pay the other express charges. 

In remitting money to us use either postoffice money order 
or express order. In each case the one issuing the order gives 
you a plain receipt, showing the exact amount you have sent 
us. So there is no risk should a mistake occur ; for it could be 
righted at once ! 

Remember we pay all express, postage or freight on all 
books sent from our office. 

Address all orders to 

THE WORLD SUPPLY CO., 

Distributers of William Lee Popham's Famous Books. 
Louisville, Ky. 



92 



SEP 19 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



^^;? IP WW 



